


Devil's Roulette

by Hannibal_X_Will, Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: (in later chapters), AU, Adorable, Angst, Daredevil – Freeform, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, He's on the road of redemption, He's the sweetest guy really, Idiots in Love, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Post-Series, Russian petnames, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vigilante!Vladimir, Vladimir survived, ex-mob boss, future vigilante, known as Roulette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibal_X_Will/pseuds/Hannibal_X_Will, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/pseuds/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell's Kitchen is the safest it's been in years. Fisk has been dealt with, the Russians are gone, and the Chinese are in the wind. Lawyer by day, vigilante by night, Matt's life has never been simple, but it was finally getting back on track, or at least it was until a dead man comes back to life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _This does contain spoilers so please keep that in mind before you read._  
>  Matt's point of view is **Murdork** and Vladimir's point of view is **Hannibal_X_Will**. Please be wary that the tags will _change throughout the story so please keep an eye on them with each update. Enjoy (:_

It was mid-autumn and the leaves on the trees were a mix of brown, red and gold. A chill hugged the air – a wordless promise of a cold winter just around the corner. The sky was a flawless blue, a few plump white clouds drifted across the seemingly endless expanse, like ships at sea. There was still some warmth in the bright sunshine that glowed through the leaves, casting dappled light on the green grass. It was all in all a beautiful day, perhaps one of the last for some months. Soon the miserable rains would pour and the bitter wind would blow. If they were lucky it would snow, at least the white ice held beauty, be it a cold one.

The graveyard sat on the edge of the city, enclosed by a stone wall with only one metal gate to pass in and out of. Narrow paths weaved their way past marble headstones, tall crosses and pale-stoned angels. It wasn’t particularly large, the graveyard, nor was it as bleak as most. The grass was a lush green and in the spring daisies, buttercups and other wild flowers grew. For a few short weeks bluebells blossomed around the bases of the large trees that were dotted around. The whole thing seemed somewhat out of place on the edge of Hell’s Kitchen.  
  
No, it wasn’t an ugly place to be buried, but it was still a graveyard.                         

Vladimir stood beneath a large oak tree, the sun through the leaves cast a fiery light upon his black suit and coat. A soft breezed stirred, rustling the canopy and he pulled up the collar of his coat, though not because he was cold, he had grown up in one of the coldest places on the planet, but because he didn’t want any passersby to see his face. He moved out from beneath the tree and towards the grave.

Anatoly had been buried yesterday but Vladimir hadn’t attended the service. Everyone thought he was dead, it was better if it stayed that way. He had powerful enemies in the city; he wasn’t strong enough yet to face them.                                                                                   

The headstone was simple, a large slab of grey marble, polished until the lighter veins of silver which snaked through it gleamed in the sunlight. Underneath Anatoly’s date of birth and death was inscribed his favourite quote from the Russian author, Nabokov:

_‘Жизньбольшим сюрпризом . Я не понимаю, почему смерть должна бытьдаже большей.’_

 

//

Matt had lost track of all the times he and Anatoly had sat in a coffee shop in the early hours of the morning, not even talking all the time. Matt had often gone to 24/7 coffee shops when he was studying law; he preferred to sit in the calm, quiet environment – he found it better than an empty apartment with _too little_ noise. Here, it was quiet, there wasn’t too much noise.  
  
_Ah, Matt remembered the first time he had been sitting there, pouring over his law books, sipping a latte as his fingers went over the Braille. It had been peaceful, not too loud, not distracting – not like Foggy’s snores as he mumbled in his sleep – when the chair opposite him had been scraped across the floor, causing Matt’s fingers to fall still._  
  
_“Sorry... I do not mean bother... Everywhere else is full. I was hoping I could sit..?”_  
  
_The broken English, cured with the Russian accent made Matt chuckle a little._  
  
_“No bother, no bother at all. Feel free to.”_  
  
_A mumbled thanks came from the other man and Matt’s fingers continued across the letters of the page. There was no talking at all before the man opposite cleared his throat._  
  
_“I am Anatoly... I just thought you would like to know my name.”_  
  
_Matt looked up, eyebrow raising a little._  
  
_“I’m Matt, pleasure to meet you.”_  
  
_He assumed the other would be holding his hand out, and his own hand extended. There was a shuffling before Matt felt another hand take his. They shook, Matt noting the soft scars on the other’s palm before the contact was dropped and silence fell again._  
  
//

For a long moment Vladimir stood staring at the grave, his eyes burning with the threat of tears, but none fell.

The whole city was talking about how Fisk had been arrested, Vladimir wished he hadn’t been, he wanted to look into the man’s eyes as he took his life...

“Mne zhal',” Vladimir whispered to the gravestone, continuing in Russian, “I have failed you, brother, Fisk is behind bars...I – I cannot avenge you.” 

His wound was beginning to ache again. Vladimir grimaced and pressed his hand to his right side. He could feel the raised scar tissue through the thin material of his shirt. It have been excruciating when the surgeon – a man named Iosif, Vladimir’s last surviving Russian contact he knew wasn’t a snake - had reopened his cauterised wound, cutting the burned flesh and digging in between his ribs to find the bullet still lodged inside. The hideous wound surrounded by burned skin had only just begun to lose its angry redness, the stitches removed a week ago and the incision finally healed over. It would take the burns longer to heal but at least he could now walk around freely without feeling as if someone was shoving a red-hot knife into his lung. 

He supposed he should be grateful to the man in the mask – or Daredevil as the media had started calling him – if he hadn’t burned shut the wound he would have bled to death. But the truth was he felt something far more to the vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen than just gratitude - admiration. Vladimir did not hold a grudge against him for abandoning him in the tunnels to face Fisk’s men – it had been his idea after all. Ever since he had been strong enough to stand he had considered seeking the masked man out. Yet something had held him back. The vigilante wasn’t his ally and he most certainly wasn’t his friend. Vladimir wasn’t a fool, he knew the type of man the Mask thought him to be, he was well aware of the things he had done, the crimes he had committed, the lives he had destroyed. The Mask would be only too happy to hand him over to the police, tie up another loose end of Fisk’s criminal web. He should be thanking his lucky stars that he wasn’t rotting away behind bars like Fisk.

Yet Vladimir, though he did not care to admit it, felt lost. Other than Iosif, all his people were gone, most of them killed in the bombings. Vladimir had no one left to turn to. He had a place to stay at least, a small apartment he rented under a different name that only Anatoly had known about, and enough money stashed away to last him a few months – maybe six if he careful. His business was gone, everything he and Anatoly had built over the past six years since they came to America, burned to the ground. It hadn’t been the empire he had promised his brother, but it had been a start. Now he had nothing, no people, no business, no plan...

“I don’t know what I am to do,” he told the gravestone, “Without you by my side all our dreams seem...hollow. I do not want to rule alone, Anatoly, I do not want to be a lone king.” 

A tear slipped from his right eye, following the valley the scar down his cheek made. 

“I-I think I may go back to Moscow, as you wanted...” Vladimir trailed off, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he sensed he was being watched.

Not taking his eyes off the grave of his brother, he slid his hand into the folds of his coat and wrapped his fingers around the butt of the gun holstered beneath his arm. Slowly, his heartbeat accelerating, Vladimir looked around, scanning the lines of graves, half expecting a ghostly shape to rise from them. He frowned, his hand loosening on his gun. Then he heard a twig snap underfoot a few feet behind him and, acting on pure instinct, he threw himself back against the large oak tree he had been standing beneath.  Pressing his back against the rough bark, Vladimir peered around its bulk and saw a young man carrying a bunch of flowers slowly making his way towards him. 

//

  
Matt walked through the leaves of the grave yard, feeling the breeze on his face. It was calming, chilly, but calming. The flowers were tight in his hand as he walked through the graves. _How_ he was going to find one grave in the masses of them... He had no idea. He hoped there was no one else present in the area he thought more suiting – if his memory served, this would likely be the place that the Russians had buried Anatoly. There was a view of Hell’s Kitchen, bright and cheery in the summer. He was sure this was the section he was in.  
  
Matt hesitated, turning to his left. It was the only direction the graves could be facing him and slowly, slowly he moved forward before crouching. His fingers moved gently over the grained stone, searching for the words.  
  
_Thomas Jacobs_  
  
Matt shook his head a little, moving over to the next one as best he could.  
  
_Jennifer Slater_  
  
He grimaced as he shifted over again. How many more till he found the grave? If need be, he could easily return to the office, have Karen or Foggy bring him here. Find the right grave, pay his respects.  
  
_Enrique Abano_  
  
One more try. One more try and then he would leave back for the office.  
  
_Жизньбольшим сюрпризом . Я не понимаю, почему смерть должна бытьдаже большей_  
  
A soft smile came onto Matt’s face. This must have been it, this- this _had_ to be Anatoly. There was no name, no name that he could tell.  
  
Gently, he lay the flowers down against the smooth marble and stayed crouched where he was. There was no way he could bring his words out. He cleared his throat a little, opening his mouth a few times before shaking his head.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
It was all he could say, all he could hope to say. At the current moment in time, anyway.  
  
// 

Vladimir watched the stranger crouch down in front of his brother’s grave, confusion sinking its teeth into his stomach. The man wore small, round glasses which glinted in the sun as he raised his head and ran his fingers over the words etched into the marble. Vladimir recognised the type of glasses and realised with a jolt the man was blind. _So not a threat_ , he thought suspiciously, _but how did he know Anatoly?_ Even though his brother was dead Vladimir still felt a surge of protectiveness towards him and he stepped out from beneath the shade of the tree. 

//  
  
_“What- What are you reading?”_  
  
_Matt’s fingers faltered over the Braille once more before he looked up, at what he hoped was Anatoly._  
  
_“Law books. I’m studying at law school.”_  
  
_A smile decorated the student’s face._  
  
_“A lawyer? Interesting.”_  
  
_Matt chuckled._  
  
_“What about you? What do you do?”_  
  
_“My brother and I live off family money.”_  
  
_Matt nodded as his fingers went back over the Braille._  
  
_“You’re from Russia?”_  
  
_“Moscow... Yourself?”_  
  
_“Hell’s Kitchen, born and raised.”_  
  
_“A native?”_  
  
_“Mhm... New in town?”_  
  
_“You could say so.”_  
  
_“Maybe I could show you around?”_  
  
_There was silence, causing Matt to chuckle._  
  
_“I may be blind, but believe me, I have my ways of seeing.”_  
  
_“Maybe then, maybe. I did not mean to prejudice-”_  
  
_“I get it a lot, believe me. I’m used to it.”_

//  
  
“Who the hell are you?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who has read this fic so far and have left lovely comments <3 we are both thrilled there are others out there who see the potential of this ship! 
> 
> Italics indicate flashback. English translations for the Russian can be found at the end.
> 
> Enjoy :D

_Anatoly slid the money over the counter before Matt could hope to get his wallet out. The Russian’s hand clamped down on his wrist._

  _“_ _Please, please, this is my treat, Matthew.”_

  _“_ _**Matt**. Please, Anatoly, I can’t ask you to do this-”_

  _“_ _You’re not asking. I am insisting.”_

  _Matt had to smile, allowing Anatoly to move him aside. “Alright, alright, I agree, but I will treat you myself later in the month. It is only fair.”_

  _Anatoly must have put his hands up; Matt felt the soft breeze on his face, causing him to chuckle as the Russian laughed._

  _“Fine, fine. But as student, you cannot really afford to pay for coffee all the time.”_

  _"I have quite a bit of money behind me. Suits me well.”_

  _Their order was called out, and Matt gladly moved forward, accepting the steaming cup from the Russian. He smiled and nodded his thanks, letting the man move him through the already filling up coffee shop._

  _“So how are you and your brother?”_

 " _We are doing well, thank you Matthew.”_

  _“ **Matt**. And that’s good to hear... Hell’s Kitchen can be overwhelming for those who have never been here before.”_

  _“It definitely is. Vladimir- My brother and I found it very hard to settle in, even after the hustle and bustle of Russia.”_

  _The two men headed outside of the shop, Matt’s stick sweeping over the concrete as they walked down the street._

  _“Really? Hell’s Kitchen is worse than Russia?”_

  _“Not so much... We had a long time away from Russia in Serbia. We... Were alone alot.”_

  _Matt nodded a little, sipping his latte as he hummed._

 

_//_

 

Matt jumped at the harsh snarl and he straightened up quickly, dusting off his trousers as he rose. Why hadn’t he sensed the man’s approach? It unnerved him that he hadn’t, made him feel vulnerable for a second and cheated, let down by his enhanced hearing.

As he turned to face the man who had spoken he sensed were flooded with information about him. He was Russian, his accent made that an obvious observation. He was recovering from a handful of injuries, the metallic smell of blood and the tang of disinfectant hovered around him like a fog. He was suffering emotionally too, the stench of vodka – expensive – told Matt that – and the fact that he was in a graveyard. The man’s heartbeat was one of the strongest he had heard in a long while, the sound heavy and confident. It was a little fast, though no because he was overweight or sick – that sounded different – no because of the anger that was seeping from his tense form. That heartbeat...it was familiar, as was the man’s voice.

_No, it couldn’t be, he was dead._

“I ask again,” the man growled, taking a step towards Matt, “Who are you?”

The man’s accent rolled over Matt like a wave and he opened his mouth, so shocked that he was alive and had caught him unawares, he didn’t know what to say.

“I – I came to pay my respects,” he finally managed to stammered, clenching his hand into a fist.

“You are stranger to me,” Vladimir muttered, his clothes rustling and Matt imagined his crossing his arms across his chest, “how you know my brother?” 

“I – I didn’t really, just...in passing,” the words were a lie but they felt like the truth. His discovery that Anatoly had been in charge – along with his brother – of the Russian mob in Hell’s Kitchen Matt had felt a raw wound in Matt’s chest. He had thought he knew the man, that they were friends, but it had been a lie, it turned out he knew nothing of the kind of man Anatoly had been.  Vladimir’s heartbeat jumped slightly and Matt tensed, worried the Russian had recognised his voice. 

“You sound...” the Russian began slowly, “невозможно.” 

“Look, I’m sorry that I interrupted you, I’ll go,” Matt was anxious to leave, being around Vladimir was making his skin crawl. He had no idea how the man was alive, even if he had managed to take out Fisk’s men in the tunnels the night of the bombings he had been certain he would have died of his injuries. Yet here the Russian mob boss stood, very much breathing.  

Despite everything he knew the man had done, the crimes he had committed, the lives he had ruined, Matt couldn’t help but feel a small pang of sympathy for him. He could smell the salt on the man’s skin – tears – he had known how close the brothers had been, Anatoly had spoken often about his brother though he had never said his name. The two had had only each other to depend on, Matt knew what it was like to be solely loved and to lose that one person in your life you couldn’t imagine living without.

The memory of his father stung him like a wasp and he blurted, “I’m sorry about your brother, Vladimir.”  

_Big mistake._    

There was the rush of movement and suddenly rough hands seized hold of Matt’s suit jacket, yanking him forwards and almost off his feet. He was shocked yet again that his senses had failed him, it was as if Vladimir was somehow unique, a phenomenon he couldn’t read and predict. To Matt the world looked like it was on fire, but Vladimir Ranskahov truly was fire – wild, unpredictable and dangerous.  

“Как вы знаете мое имя ? Как дела?” Vladimir demanded, the grip on Matt’s jacket like a vice, his breath hot against Matt’s face. Matt should have recoiled at the man’s close proximity but instead he felt a strange thrill run down his spine like he did whenever he put on his mask and headed out into the night. 

“I don’t under-“ 

“- Do you work for Fisk? You sent to kill me at my brother’s grave? Ублюдок.” 

The mention of Fisk’s name filled Matt with anger as he remembered all the misery that man had caused, all the death and destruction, the very notion that he would work for such a man made Matt want to be sick. Without thinking, Matt lashed out, punching the Russian hard in the stomach. The man clearly hadn’t been expecting him – a blind man – to have such strength for he did not see the blow coming. He grunt as the air was knocked from his lungs and he released his hold on Matt’s suit jacket. 

“I do not work for Fisk!” Matt hissed, his ear filled with Vladimir’s shaky gasps for air and his racing heartbeat, “And I wasn’t sent to kill you. I came to pay my respects to your brother, that’s all.”   

“лжец,” Vladimir spat, holding onto his throbbing side, the old injury burning as if it was fresh, “My name is only known to a few, how do you know me? And my brother?” 

“I know your name because he talked about you,” Matt told Vladimir, biting his tongue as he thought in his head, _and because I’m the man behind the Mask who you tried to kill than sacrificed yourself for so I could escape._  

Vladimir straightened up awkwardly and Matt could smell the pain seeping off of him like black tar. “W-why would he talk to you...about me?” 

“We talked about a lot of things, you meant a great deal to him – everything I think – so you came up a lot in conversation,” Matt wasn’t really sure why he was telling the Russian all this, it would have been easier to lie, to find a way to leave and spend the rest of his life hoping to never see the mob-boss again, but he didn’t, the words kept on coming.  

“I – I met him by accident, years ago, not long after you both arrived in Hell’s Kitchen. I was in this little coffee shop near where I was studying and Anatoly sat across from me, it was the only free seat.” 

Vladimir snarled in anger and Matt dropped his stick as he raised both his hands to defend himself but the Russian didn’t lunge at him. He could hear the other man grinding his teeth together, smell the sweat on his forehead, feeling the tension in his muscles through the tiny vibrations in the air around him. Everything was screaming at him to get away, Vladimir was dangerous, a cornered bear. He knew he was armed, he could smell the metal of the knife stuck into his right boot and hear the faint slack of the gun holstered beneath his arm as he shifted. If Vladimir attacked him probably he would have no choose but to defend himself and expose himself as Daredevil...

 

//

 

_“What about you?”_

_Matt’s head turned to face the man walking alongside him._

_“I lived in Hell’s Kitchen all my life, as I mentioned, ummm, my Father died when I was nine, I lived in a orphan’s home for a little while before I was adopted by this guy... Then I went back to the orphanage.”_

_Matt shrugged._

_“Was a pretty lonely life I guess. But then I graduated college, got into law school and met Foggy.”_

_“Foggy..?”_

_“His name is Franklin. He’s my best friend. We study law together, we have internships at the same firm and we want to make a law firm together.”_

_“You two are in love?”_

_Matt laughed a little,  feeling his ears turn red as memories hit him from that one drunk night a few weeks ago._

_“No no no. We both like women. He’s just a really good friend. I love him like a brother.”_

_Anatoly’s hand clamped down on Matt’s wrist, drawing the man’s attention to two things. That he almost walked in front of a car, not paying attention, and secondly, to the large scar on the other’s palm._

_“What happened to your hand? If you don’t mind my asking?”_

_Anatoly went quiet as they walked across the road._

_“When I was younger, my parents always let my brother and I know that I was the favourite child. My Father used to, how do you say, abos?”_

_“Abuse?”_

_“Yes, yes, abuse. My Father would abuse my brother, beat him with his belt. Sometimes I would get in way to stop Father hurting him so much. The belt caught my hand and gouched..?”_

_“Gauged?”_

_“Yes! Gauged a mark into my hand. Vl- My brother took me to the hospital and we had it sewn up and then we stayed at Aunt’s until it healed.”_

_“I’m so sorry, Anatoly...”_

 

// 

 

“Anatoly hated coffee,” Vladimir growled.

Matt may not be able to see the man’s face but he could hear the edge of doubt in his voice. “No, no he didn’t.” 

“He was my brother!” Vladimir’s raised voice hurt Matt’s sensitive ears but he held his ground, “Как ты смеешь предлагаю вам знал его лучше, чем я!” 

“We all have our secrets,” Matt said before he could stop himself, he knew he was playing with fire but he wouldn’t let himself be intimidated.

“Anatoly,” Vladimir spoke, his voice as low and rough as a wolf’s growl, “Had no secrets from me.” 

“I’m sorry, Vladimir.” The Russian took a step closer and Matt held his head high, feeling how near the other man’s face was to his own, the air between them warming up like that around a dancing flame.

“We kept bumping into each other at the coffee shop,” Matt spoke to distract himself from the man’s close proximity, “So we eventually just exchanged numbers and met for coffee once a week or once every two weeks - at least twice a month – normally on a -” 

“- On a Wednesday,” Vladimir interrupted him, “Anatoly would often make some excuse, I thought... Я был дурак.” 

“I know Fisk was the one who killed him.” Vladimir froze, inhaling sharply. Matt almost found himself leaning in to chase his breath. 

“как – how do you know that?” 

“I was against him on a tenancy case – I’m a lawyer,” Matt instantly cursed himself for revealing that, _why did he find it so easy to let his guide down the Russian?_ “A-and I heard the news about him when he was arrested. All the things they’ve found out about him...about what he’s done.”  

“That does not example how you know Fisk took my brother’s life,” Vladimir sounded suspicious and Matt subconsciously pinched himself, he was digging a hole for himself. 

“I know that type of man Fisk is – and you accused me a minute ago of being sent here to kill you by him.”   

“умный мальчик. Вы быстро мыслитель и хороший лжец.”

Matt didn’t know what that meant but Vladimir did not sound convinced, yet he no longer sounded angry neither.  

“You think I did not truly know you brother,” Matt began carefully, as if he was approaching a stray dog, “But I did. Anatoly had a scar on his left hand from your Father’s belt. He got it one night when your father was beating you and he couldn’t take hearing your cries anymore, so he jumped in the way. You took him to the hospital and then stayed at your Aunt’s until his hand had healed.”

There was a moment of dead silence where Matt could have sworn even Vladimir’s heart stopped beating, then, in a small voice more befitting to the boy in the story, Vladimir whispered incredulously, “How did you...”

“Anatoly told me. I knew him Vladimir and,” Matt took an unsteady breath, “and I cared for him. He was my friend and I want to -” 

“- Мужчины , как мне не получить , чтобы иметь друзей...” Vladimir muttered, turning on his heel sharply before Matt could finish what he was saying or reach out to stop him. If he had been anyone else he wouldn’t have been able to hear Vladimir’s whispering growl as he stalked away but he did,  

“...Especially not good man like you.” 

Matt’s heart sank into his stomach like a stone and he couldn’t help but feel like he had lost Anatoly all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Невозможно = Impossible  
> Как вы знаете мое имя ? Как дела? = How do you know my name? How are you?  
> Ублюдок = Bastard  
> Лжец = Liar  
> Как ты смеешь предлагаю вам знал его лучше, чем я = How dare you suggest you knew him better than me!  
> Я был дурак = I was a fool  
> Как = How  
> умный мальчик. Вы быстро мыслитель и хороший лжец = Clever boy. You are quick thinker and good liar.  
> Мужчины , как мне не получить , чтобы иметь друзей = Men like me don’t get to have friends.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Your support and comments mean a lot <3


	3. Chapter 3

Vladimir never forgot a face, it was one of the things he prided himself in, that and his winning sense of humour. Since the night of the bombings the last face he had seen when he closed his eyes and drifted off the sleep had been the man in the mask. Having only seen half of his face he wondered often what the rest looked like. His jawline had been strong, his lips full – handsome.

The man at the cemetery had been equally good-looking, the same straight jawline slightly darkened with stubble. But that wasn’t the only similarity Vladimir had been pondering over since yesterday, his voice; the voice had been the same. But the man at the cemetery, the man who had known his brother, was blind so surely he couldn’t be the vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen? When the man had hit him in the stomach and shoved him away Vladimir had felt his strength, the confidence in the movement, whoever he was he clearly wasn’t new to defending himself.  

Truthfully, Vladimir knew he was only fixating on this because he had nothing else to do. Turns out being the ex-boss of a mob group didn’t provide lots of career opportunities after all your men were killed by a rival, who would have thought? He was bored and restless, and his instincts told him to chase what he thought he knew – or rather what he couldn’t believe was. The man at the cemetery was either connected to the man in the mask, or, somehow, he was him. Like a dog with a bone, that’s what Anatoly would have said he was like. Whether he was barking up the wrong tree or not, Vladimir was looking for an excuse to talk to the man from the cemetery again, through him he had a connection with Anatoly.

So that was why he now stood outside the frosted glass door of _Nelson & Murdock Attorneys at Law. _The place hadn’t been hard to track down. The guy had said he was a lawyer and there weren’t very many blind lawyers in Hell’s Kitchen.

Vladimir stared at the makeshift sign, trying to decide if he found it funny or irritating, either way it left an impression, he just wasn’t sure it was the right, professional one. He was stalling, he was well away, but he felt nervous which was ridiculous. Out of the many things he had done in his life walking into a fledgling law firm in a slightly rundown, half empty building was definitely near the bottom of being the most dangerous. Yet he felt like he was walking into the lion’s den.

Why did the notion of seeing the blind guy again fill him with such nerves? Perhaps it was because, if his hunch was right, it would lead him to Daredevil. _He_ was someone Vladimir knew he had to be wary of; they may have parted on better terms than they had met but they were far from allies, especially now that Fisk was behind bars. The vigilante had only saved his life so he could provide him with information, and Vladimir had only volunteered to stay behind in the tunnels and hold of Fisk’s men because he had known the masked man was his best bet at seeing Fisk fall.

Yet his was not so much nervous because he was frightened, no, he was nervous with anticipation, tiny butterflies of excitement fluttered in his stomach as if he was sixteen years old again and meeting a pretty girl for a date.

“трус,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head and squaring his shoulders. Anatoly was surely looking up at him from his grave and laughing. Vladimir had never let anyone laugh at him and he wasn’t about to make an exception for the dead. 

Taking hold of the handle, he twisted it and pushed the door open. As it swung inwards he had a brief second to wonder whether he should have knocked then opened the door, before the he was striding over the threshold, hiding his nerves behind his familiar mask of stubborn confidence.

//  
  
Matt had been late to work – but then again if you had almost broken your back fighting crime the night before you probably would be too. He had called Foggy and let him know, getting an ear-full of exasperation and concerned anger. His friend may accept his night-time vigilantism but he most definitely did not encourage it, so they’d be no sympathy for him when he did limp into work eventually.

It was ten o’clock when his talking alarm had finally grown too irritating for him to ignore and he had got out of bed and walked stiffly to the shower. The hot water helped sooth his tight muscles but it did little to improve his aching back. Getting dressed then heading out the door, he almost forgot his stick and had to re-enter his apartment to grab it. He normally enjoyed the short walk to work but today every step jarred his spine and he had to grit his teeth to keep from grimacing in pain.

Pausing outside the building of his work, he reached out his hand and ran his fingers over the cool metal of the _Nelson & Murdock_ plaque as he did every morning, the action being like a ritual. The stairs up to the correct floor felt like a marathon, his stick clacking on the cement as he climbed. His back pain was causing a tightening in his chest that forced him to halt in the corridor for a second, breathing heavily. For a second all he could hear was his own laboured breathing and heavy heartbeat then he spread his senses outwards to observe is surroundings. He heart the familiar rhythms of Karen and Foggy’s hearts a few feet down the corridor inside their office, but there was something off about them. Matt frowned, straightening up, his back pain forgotten. Both their heartbeats were fast, nervous, and it was then that Matt noticed there was a third.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Matt muttered as he recognised the third heartbeat. What the hell was Vladimir doing here? Before he could begin to think the Russian’s thick accent rose above normal level as he demanded loud enough for someone with normal hearing to hear through the wall, “Where is Murdock?”

There was a crash, followed immediately by the jumping of Karen and Foggy’s heartbeats.

“We told you, he’s not here right now!” Foggy sounded more angry than frightened but it still instantly made Matt fear the worst – it was Vladimir in the room after all.

“Shit,” Matt swore, dropping his stick and sprinting down the corridor to the door. He skidded to a halt in front of it, his glasses almost falling off his nose. He resisted the urge to burst into the room fists flying, remembering he was Matt not Daredevil right now. So he had to settle with shoving the door open and letting his invisible mask fall over his face, his expression going blank.

“What’s going on?” He asked as neutrally as he could, eyes blindly staring into the room.

Foggy began to speak, “Matt, great, this guy has been asking –“

“- Demanding,” Karen cut in angrily and Matt suppressed a smirk at her spirit.

“- Asking to see you.”

“I told him we know each other,” Vladimir growled, as if he and Matt were old friends and Foggy was somehow trying to keep them apart.

“Ah, well, perhaps if you didn’t come storming in here like you did then –“

“- Yes, thank you, Karen,” Matt interrupted up, stepping inside the office properly and closing the door behind him, “I’m here now, so, how can I help?”

Vladimir hesitated then said gruffly, “We talk privately.”

Matt nodded, walking towards his office and letting the Russian follow him in. He found the spare stick that Foggy left propped up in the corner by the filing cabinet and gestured with it to where he knew the client chair was opposite his in front of the desk. Vladimir closed the door then sat in the chair heavily, Matt not missing the way his breath hitched slightly.

“What can I do for you, Vladimir?” He asked, reminding himself again that he was not Daredevil in this moment.

The Russian’s heartbeat was fast, nervous, Matt frowned.   
  
“I-I wanted to see you,” Vladimir said honestly.  
  
Taken aback, Matt sank down into his own chair, asking simply, “Why?”  
  
“Fisk,” Vladimir growled, leaning forward, his leather jacket crunching, “Is behind bars. I want to know if there any way he get more time?”  
  
“For Anatoly?” Saying his name brought the grief back to life and Matt tightened his grip on his stick set across his lap.  
  
There was a shift in the air as Vladimir nodded, “Anatoly deserves justice. Life for life. But as Fisk is in prison...he must spend rest of life in there.” Vladimir put his hands on Matt’s desk, the papers beneath his palms rustling.  
  
“I agree,” Matt said, feeling an urge to reach across the desk and lay his hand on top of the Russians, “Fisk deserves to never be free.”  
  
“If you had more...” Vladimir paused, clearly thinking of the English word, “Testimony, you think you could get him longer sentence?”  
  
“Maybe, but only if we call for a re-trial, he’s already been charged. I’d have to bring a new case against him through the court.”

“I witness many things he did,” Vladimir growled, “I give evidence, he never get out.”

“I’m not sure that’ll work-“

“- Why not?”

“Because of your...” Matt hesitated, unsure of how Vladimir would react, “your situation.”

“You speak of my own crimes?”

Matt nodded, “That and that fact you’re presumed dead.”  
  
“How did you know that?”  
  
Shit.  
  
“Fisk had Anatoly killed - killed him - for that, Anatoly must have had criminal links to the man. You and he were close; it's safe to assume you were working with him. Call it a lukcy guess. Also, Fisk has men on the outside. If you were ‘alive’ as it were, you would already be dead and buried.”  
  
Vladimir nodded a little.  
  
“I meant I give evidence faceless...um...anonymous.”

Matt sighed, rubbing his face wearily - he was too sore and tired to be dealing with this right now.

“There are lot of people who wish me dead,” Vladimir continued, “we made many enemies – Anatoly and me.”

_No shit_ , Matt thought bitterly but it still stung to think of Anatoly in that way, up until the last few days of his life Matt had not known of his connection with Fisk, or of the criminal enterprise had had spearhead with his brother.

“When you are king people always want to steal crown.”

Steering the subject away from Anatoly, Matt asked, “Is there anyone else who you know who would be willing to testify in court?” He knew it was a long shot.

“The only person who could... Died in the bombings.”  
  
Matt pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses. He really needed some caffeine. They had a coffee machine here but Matt didn’t really want Vladimir hanging around Karen and Foggy any longer than he had to.   
  
“Why don’t we go for a walk?” He asked the Russian, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet, “Get a drink. Perhaps the fresh air will help us come up with a new plan.”  
  
Vladimir must have nodded in agreement for he scrapped his chair back and got up too. Matt used his stick to guide him around his desk towards the door but was stopped by Vladimir’s presence blocking his path.

“Thank you, Murdock,” the Russian said. He was standing close enough that Matt could smell the scent of vodka that seemed to permanently cling to his skin, yet he found the smell strangely comforting. It took him a moment to realise why, because Anatoly used to have the same scent. The air shifted between them and Matt realised Vladimir was holding his hand out to him. Switching his stick to his left, Matt slipped his hand into the Russian’s, the sensation of his rough skin making his shiver.

“My name’s Matt,” he said, a strange electricity sparking up his arm from their joined hands.

He sensed the other man lean in towards him slightly and he tensed, but the Russian didn’t touch him. Vladimir let go of his hand and cleared his throat roughly, muttering, “Let us walk then.”

Matt couldn’t help but wondering what on earth he had gotten himself into going to Anatoly’s grave yesterday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian translation
> 
> трус - Coward
> 
>  
> 
> _So hey guys!_  
>  It's Murdork here. I just wanted to say thank you for loving this story so much and giving so much feedback - it definitely helps with the updating of this story, it doesn't feel like a chore as it does in most fandoms.  
> Also, my tumblr url is 'widow-devil' if any of y'all want to follow me. You can request a fan fiction there if you really want to - just send me an ask or fan mail (if I don't write it, I'll pop you a message explaining why - if I do, I'll answer the question / fanmail with a link to the story) and again thank you so much for reading this story ^^


	4. Chapter 4

_Anatoly ran in from school and Vladimir couldn’t help but scowl. He turned over in his bed, nibbling at the split lip he sported, curling up under his covers. He hated that brat of a brother. Why the hell was he treated like he was, whilst Vladimir lived in fear of his Father’s belt?_  
  
_Oh yea._  
  
_Because he wasn’t supposed to exist._  
  
_Tears pooled in Vladimir’s eyes as he listened to his parents downstairs, smothering Anatoly in praise for some award he’d won. They streamed down his cheeks as he heard his Father’s voice, ‘I knew you could do it! I never doubted you for a second!’ and he had to bite down hard to his lip._  
  
_The front door slammed and Vladimir strained his hearing as best he could._  
  
_“Go clean up, Anatoly, and fetch your brother for dinner,” his mother’s voice said._  
  
_Father must have gone to work._  
  
_Vladimir closed his eyes, curling up tighter into a ball as he heard Anatoly running up the stairs. The door to the attic opened and Vladimir felt someone bounce onto his bed._  
  
_“Come on, Vlad! Dinner’s nearly ready.”_  
  
_“Hm.”_  
  
_“Hey, what’s wrong?”_  
  
_Vladimir slowly rolled over, sitting up. Anatoly’s eyes went wide when he saw the bruised eye and split lip._  
  
_“He hit you again?”_  
  
_Vladimir shoved Anatoly off the bed and lay back down, ignoring his squeak of pain and surprise as he fell onto the floor._  
  
_“Go downstairs. Leave me alone.”_  
  
_“Vlad!”_  
  
_“Go and eat, Anatoly. Mistakes like me aren’t allowed to sit with the real members of the family.”_  
  
_The footsteps were hesitant before they thumped back downstairs._  
  
_//_  
  
_“Vladimir.”_  
  
_The teen hunched his shoulders, ignoring the concerned voice of his Mother._  
  
_“Vladimir, sweetheart.”_  
  
_“Oh shut up.”_  
  
_“How dare you!”_  
  
_He sat up, glaring at his Mother._  
  
_“Why did you have to fucking do it?”_  
  
_“Watch your language.”_  
  
_“NO! I FUCKING WON’T.”_  
  
_His Mother took a step back, blinking at Vladimir._  
  
_“Why did you do it?”_  
  
_Vladimir broke. His tears finally broke, sliding down his cheeks. They mixed with a cut on his face, causing him to wince as the salty liquid slipped inside._  
  
_“Vladimir, baby boy. Come here.”_  
  
_“No. Cause he’s downstairs. I’m not **allowed** to touch you, remember? Or Anatoly. Or ‘Father’. Or Her. I’m not **allowed** to eat with the family, sit with you, I’m not even meant to talk to any of you. Obviously, he makes an exception with you.”_  
  
_Vladimir watched her tilt her head, frowning as she sat down._  
  
_“If I had known what he was going to do, I would have left before everything. Before you were born, Vladimir. I would have raised you myself. But I have to think of Anatoly and Akilina.”_  
  
_Vladimir shrugged._  
  
_“Does it matter? It’s happening.”_  
  
_“Your Father-”_  
  
_“He is NOT my Father stop calling him that.”_  
  
_She sighed._  
  
_“He’s at work. Akilina’s asking for you to come see her... Go on.”_  
  
_Vladimir’s hand went to his black eye, wincing. “I can’t.”_  
  
_“Vlad, she won’t see it. Please sweetheart. She wants her big brother.”_  
  
_He sighed, looking away before eventually getting up, heading downstairs._  
  
_//_  
  
_Vlad curled up on the couch, resting his eyes for a moment before a soft weight was placed onto his chest. He smiled and wrapped his arms around Akilina before she could make a noise._  
  
_“Hey you.”_  
  
_She giggled and kissed Vladimir’s cheek, missing the cut; he gave a soft thanks to whatever God there might be, before he sat up, moving her into his lap. He watched her as she curled up, resting her head on his shoulder._  
  
_Why did she like him? Why did Anatoly like him?_  
  
_He looked over as his little brother slipped onto the couch beside him, wrapping an arm around him too. Anatoly gladly rested against his brother, yawning a little. Vladimir’s eyes saw the clock. It was late, Akilina should be in bed. He leaned forward enough to grab the book askew on the table._  
  
_Harry Potter?_  
  
_Vladimir shrugged and Anatoly opened the book to the page they had been read to. Vladimir cleared his throat, beginning to talk the words, trying not to let his voice get too tight – he didn’t want his siblings to know he was breaking._  
  
_//_  
  
_“Vlad.”_  
  
_He turned his head at his Mother’s whisper._  
  
_“He’s just finished his shift. You should head up.”_  
  
_Vladimir slumped before ever so carefully getting up, trying not to unsettle his sleeping brother and sister. He took the plate of food his Mother held out to him, making his way back up the stairs. He sat on his bed, chewing his way through food as he stared out the small window he had. It was dark, maybe he should sleep before He got home. He sighed a little before shifting to change into pajamas, slipping the near-empty plate onto his bedside table. Eventually, he curled up under his duvet, shivering in the chilly night._  
  
_He was almost asleep when his door slammed open, the stench of alcohol and the angry voice of his Father drifting in..._  
  
//

“Vladimir?”  
  
The Russian shook his head, eyes wide as he glanced at Matt who was holding a cup of coffee out to him. He took it, mumbled thanks then followed the lawyer over to an empty window seat. Looking through the glass as he sat down he watched a small family – a mother and her two sons and daughter – walked by, smiling and happy.  
  
He snorted and thought bitterly, _if only_.

“He used to do the exact same thing.”

The lawyer's words snapped Vladimir's attention back to the man sitting across from him at the table.   
  
"What?"   
  
Matt flushed as if he hadn't meant to say what he said out loud. Vladimir found himself transfixed at the sight of the younger man's reddening cheeks.  
  
"I-I meant you and your brother. Anatoly used to fall quiet like that, drift off when he was remembering something from his past," Matt explained quickly, taking a sip of his steaming coffee.  
  
It both anger Vladimir that this man had known his brother so well and filled him relief that were was at least one other person who regretted he was no longer here.  
  
"I try not to remember," Vladimir growled, tasting his own coffee and grimaced, wishing it was something stronger.  
  
"Anatoly was reluctant to tell me anything about his past when we first met," Matt spoke evenly, his composure back, "but after he began to open up...I think it helped."  
  
"You know nothing of my past!" Vladimir snapped, the snap of his father's belt across his skin echoing in his ears, "Не думаю, что вы знаете меня , потому что вы знали, мой брат!" Do not think you know me because you knew my brother!  
  
Matt sat back in his seat, his expression blank. Vladimir cursed the glasses he wore, It was hard to know what the man was thinking without seeing his eyes.   
  
What was he doing here? Sitting in a coffee house having a drink with a lawyer in broad daylight? He had been a fool to come to him. The man had said it himself; unless he testified in court to Fisk's crimes he could do nothing else towards getting his sentence lengthen. But to testify against Fisk would mean to admit to his own crimes. Vladimir had spent enough time in prison to know he never wanted to go back to one. He wanted justice for his brother, but he didn't want it like this. He wanted to feel Fisk's blood on his hands, watch the life fade from his eyes. And Matt couldn't help him with that.  
  
He stood up sharply, scrapping his chair back. Matt winced at the sharp sound. Vladimir turned to march out of the shop but Matt stopped him, watching hold of his wrist. Staring from the hand on his skin to the man's urgent face, Vladimir was about to ask how Matt had known his wrist was there when the lawyer blurted, "Don't go. I'm sorry, Vladimir. I want - I need to see Fisk punished for what he did to Anatoly!"  
  
The dark-haired man's grip on his wrist was surprisingly strong, his skin warm. Vladimir leaned in as he replied in a low voice so only Matt could hear, "The law isn't going to be enough."   
  
Then, before Matt could make another move to stop him, Vladimir tugged his wrist free and hurried from the coffee house. 

//

He should be resting, he still wasn’t back to his full strength, Vladimir knew that but yet he had only managed to stomach an hour in his apartment before he was climbing the walls. Feeling like a caged animal, he had stuffed his feet into his boots and pulled on his leather jacket then left the building. He didn’t have anywhere in mind to go, he was just sick of staring at those same walls every evening, and his mind was swirling with guilt over how he had stormed out on Matt earlier that day. Most of his and Anatoly’s business had taken place at night and to suddenly no longer have that made him pointless. He had forgotten his gun, he missed the reassuring weight of it holstered beneath his arm or tucked into the back of his belt. The only weapon he had on him was his fists, normally they would do, but tonight he felt like he was being watched.

Pausing on a street corner, Vladimir narrowed his eyes and scanned the length of the street. The evening was still young and there were a fair few people around, a couple walked hand-in-hand, a man was jogging, a group of teenagers smoked, it wasn’t the hour yet for those who meant him harm to emerge from their hideouts.

Vladimir raised his eyes to the rooftops, half expecting to see a masked silhouette framed against the pollution black-grey sky. He felt an odd sense of disappointment when he didn’t and he stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and continued on with his aimless walk. His subconscious brought him to a bar, posters and old adverts tapped to the windows.

The door creaked loudly as he pushed it often and stepped inside. He knew the bar well; it was small, dimly-lit, round tables and stools crammed into the space. The bar itself ran the length of the far wall; the mirror on the wall behind it reflected the various bottles on display. The last time he had set foot in here Anatoly had been by his side. Entering it alone felt like a betrayal to his brother’s memory but Vladimir was thirsty, and the bar sold the vodka he liked cheaper than most.

There was only six other people in the bar beside the woman who owed it who stood behind the bar tipping peanuts into glass bowls. Vladimir paid the four men who all sat around one small table together no heed as he walked to the bar. Taking up a stool, he rested his forearms on the polished wood and caught the bartender’s eyes.

“The usual?” the woman asked; the question all the greetings required.

Vladimir nodded, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out his wallet. He pushed a fifty dollar note across the bar to the woman as she slid a tumbler of straight vodka towards him.

“Keep them coming,” he growled, picking up the glass and swirling its clear content around before taking a gulp. The alcohol burned his throat as he swallowed.

“Where’s your friend?” the woman asked, pocketing the note into the front pocket of her blouse.

Vladimir stared at his reflection in the mirror, barely recognising himself. He looked like a ghost, his skin pale, blond hair almost grey in the unpleasant yellow light of the bar, face drawn and eyes sunken. He considered for a moment simply ignoring the woman’s question, yet something made him answer, maybe by saying it he would somehow accept it and move on.

“He’s dead.”

The woman barely flinched, she was well aware of the types of people who drank in her bar. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Vladimir snorted, downing the rest of his vodka in one mouthful. He pushed the glass across the bar in a signal for a refill. Taking his lack of verbal response as an indication he was done talking – which he was – the woman simply poured more vodka into the tumbler than went back to setting up the snaps along the bar.

The six men behind Vladimir had been talking in hushed voices from the moment he had entered, but now one of them rose and came over. Vladimir watched his approach over the rim of his glass in the mirror.

“You’re Russian,” the guy stated as he leant against the bar next to Vladimir, he carried with him the whiff of whisky and an arrogant attitude.

“Well done,” Vladimir muttered, not bothering to turn on his stool, “You can hear.”

“Now you see,” the guy began, his voice slightly slurred with drink, “me and my buddies, w-we lost out on some business a couple of months ago to a group of Russian. You wouldn’t happen to know about that, would you, mate?”

Vladimir put down his glass and looked at the man, knowing the light in the bar caused his scar down his face to stand out vividly. The man stared at his scar for a second, recognition passing slowly over his watery brown eyes.

“Well shit,” the man spluttered, he waved his arm to his friends, “It fucking is him, you were right!”

Knowing this was about to go one of two ways, Vladimir picked his glass back up and finished his drink. The five other men got up from their tables and stomped over. All were relatively tall, well build. If Anatoly had been with him Vladimir would have welcomed the fight, even without his brother he would have revelled in the challenge, but his side was aching and his senses were dull from not enough sleep the last week. Still, that wasn’t to say he didn’t think he could take at least two of the men down before things got too messy for him.

“You and your people think you can just roll up in Hell’s Kitchen and take over!” A man with long grey-brown hair demanded, crowding into Vladimir’s space. The four men circled Vladimir, cornering him against the bar. He felt no fear, just annoyance.

“We do better job,” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders, “But that is in past, I no longer am in business.”

“Aww, what’s the matter, just because your fuck-bitch got himself killed-“

The man didn’t get to finish the rest of his sentence, though Vladimir was sure it would have been awe-inspiring. He drove the heavy glass tumbler into the side of the man’s head. Glass shattered everything, a shard imbedding itself into his palm. The man crashed to the floor, blood streaming from the deep cuts down his face and Vladimir sprang to his feet.

A pair of hands seized hold of his jacket but they were clumsy and he ripped out of them easily. He grabbed a shoulder and threw the man against the bar, slamming his head down against the wood and kicking at his knees in the same movement. Bone cracked and the man howled. Vladimir felt a vicious sense of satisfaction.

Someone struck him from behind, knocking him off balance. Suddenly his arms were seized from behind and he was flung towards the floor. He crashed on top of a table which broke under his weight. Sprawled on the ground, Vladimir gasped for air, his side screaming.

Figures loomed over him and fists began to rain down upon him. Snarling, he kicked out blindly and his foot connected with soft flesh. Lurching sideways, he snatched up the table leg which had snapped off and swung it at his attackers. Wood splintered and Vladimir rolled sideways, away.

The bartender was yelling but he couldn’t make out the words through the rush of his own blood deep in his ears. He held his side, eyeing the men as they began to circle him. The door was behind him and he almost considered bolting for it, but his pride wouldn’t let him run away from a fight.

One of the men roared and charged at him. Tackled around the waist, Vladimir went down hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. The guy began to lay into him; Vladimir hardly felt the pain of the punches. He tasted blood as his lip split and his head was snapped to one side. Wheezing, he struggled beneath the man’s crushing weight and managed to get a knee up between his legs. The man shrieked in pain and Vladimir shoved him off and tried to crawl to his feet. Someone seized hold of his ankles, yanking him back. He snarled, twisting around sharply and kicking his legs free.

The hands momentarily let go and he scrambled to his feet. Looking desperately for a weapon, Vladimir grabbed a wooden stool and swung it at the man who dived at him next. The stool seemed to explode in splinters at it cracked against the man’s side, sending him sprawling into a table. He was seeing red, his body buzzing with the thrill of the fight, the pain only making him more agitated.

The first man, his face covered in blood, bellowed like a crazed bull and charged at him. He had only time to brace himself before he was hurled backwards through the window of the bar. They landed out on the street, glass raining down upon them. A passerby screamed in alarm but Vladimir didn’t see them. The guy on top of him seized hold of his collar yanking him half up only to punch him hard, knocking his head back against the concrete. Vladimir’s back was throbbing, blood filled his mouth, and his vision was beginning to blur.

A manic laugh bubbled up from his stomach. This, this was how he was meant to go, spectacularly outnumbered in a bar fight, not picked off by some hitman hired by Fisk. Vladimir gave up trying to throw the man off, going limp and accepting his fate. When the blows suddenly stopped he thought that was it, he was dead, but then the weight of the man pinning him down was ripped off him and he could breathe again. Gasping for air, he spat blood out onto the pavement as he fought to remain conscious, but it was useless. The darkness rolled in and dragged him under, though not before he saw a flash of red and a oh-too familiar voice shouting his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Не думаю, что вы знаете меня , потому что вы знали, мой брат! = Do not think you know me because you knew my brother!


	5. Chapter 5

Matt hadn’t thought it through – saving Vladimir from the bar fight that was. To be honest he hadn’t been thinking straight since he found the Russian at work earlier that day. After Vladimir had stormed out of the coffee shop, Matt had hurried after him, diving down a nearby alleyway and bounding up a fire escape onto the roof. He had followed the Russian from above, jumped between buildings and keeping out of sight, keeping pace with him by focusing on his heartbeat. Eventually Vladimir had stopped outside an apartment building and gone inside, leaving Matt to stare unseeingly at the entrance. He hadn’t known what he’d been expecting, an abandoned warehouse, or an underground lair, something along those lines. But no, his hideout wasn’t that anything suspicious like that, just a regular apartment, in an average part of town.

Matt wasn’t sure why exactly he had followed Vladimir home. To make sure he didn’t do anything illegal whilst he was pissed off? That made sense, but that wasn’t the main reason. To make sure he didn’t do anything stupid and hurt himself? That was more like it and though he hated to admit it, Matt found he didn’t want Vladimir to come to any harm. He tried to tell himself it was because of Anatoly, that even though he could have easily killed the man when he had leant of his illegal double life, he still couldn’t ignore all the good he had seen in him. Surely Vladimir must have some of his brother’s redeeming features? Anatoly hadn’t been born a criminal, he had been pushed into the life through pure necessity, and it had eventually killed him. Matt wasn’t about to stand by and watch the same thing happen to his brother, his friendship with Anatoly meant he owed Vladimir that much.

Later that day, after work came dinner with Foggy and Karen – Foggy had insisted they go out to celebrate bagging a big case that afternoon – Matt had returned home just long enough to change into his Daredevil suit before he had taken to the rooftops once more. He had been on the way back to Vladimir’s apartment when he had caught the sound of the Russian’s familiar heartbeat down on the street below. Keeping to the shadows, Matt had followed him to a bar – he had caught the whiff of alcohol as he had passed through the door. Matt had waited, crouched on the opposite rooftop, all his senses concentrated on the bar. He wasn’t sure for how long he had planned to wait for the Russian to emerge – if his upset heartbeat was anything to go by he could have been waiting all night – but it turned out fate had other ideas.

The sound of the fight breaking out had snapped Matt to his feet and before he could think he was jumping down onto the fire escape then down to the alleyway floor below. He had forced himself to not go rushing across the road and into the bar – from what he could make out through the confused tangle of noise Vladimir was holding his own well. And it hadn’t been until the shattering crash of the window had sliced through Matt’s sensitive ears that he had darted across the road.

Vladimir’s attackers – those that could still stand, that was – were so shocked at the sight of him they had simply gapped in bewilderment as he threw their mate off Vladimir then bent down and hitched the unconscious Russian over his shoulder. Matt dread to think what the headline of the city newspaper would read tomorrow morning as he carried Vladimir as quickly as he could from the scene.

“I bet you are loving this aren’t you, Anatoly?” Matt muttered under his breath as he tightened his grip on Vladimir and headed quickly in the direction of the Russian’s apartment.

***

He felt like he had been hit by a car, that was the first thing Vladimir noted when he remained consciousness, the second was that he was lying on his sofa in his apartment, and the third was that he wasn’t alone.

Blearily, he lifted his throbbing head at stared at Daredevil. The vigilante sat perched on the edge of the armchair, his face mostly hidden by his mask, expression unreadable. Vladimir felt an odd mix of exhilaration, annoyance, and fear gripped him. There was a hundred questions racing through his mind but he decided to ask a simply one, “How did I get here?”

The vigilante stood and stepped closer to Vladimir, “I brought you here.”

Being slightly vulnerable, Vladimir tried to sit up but his back cried out in pain and he collapsed down again.

“H-how you know where I live?” He gasped as he clutched his aching side, knowing the searing pain meant either a fractured rib or extremely bad bruising.

“I’ve been watching you,” the vigilante’s voice was familiar but Vladimir couldn’t put his finger on where he’d heard it before.

“Ползучий,” Vladimir muttered, wincing as he coughed, “You break door down to get in?” 

Daredevil shook his head, his hands twisting by his sides, “I found the key in your pocket.”

Vladimir nodded slowly, staring at the man as he stared at... the wall? Well as far as he could tell he was staring at the wall, the mask obscuring the top half of his face. Vladimir wondered if the hidden half was as attractive as his jaw line and mouth. He cleared his throat and asked to distract himself, “Why’d you save me?”  
  
The vigilante turned towards him, his head tilting to one side slightly as if he was a dog listening to something only it could hear. Vladimir found the action uncomfortably. It was making him uneasy being unable to see the man’s eyes, he couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“You may have information I need later,” Daredevil said matter-of-factly.   
  
“Such as?” Vladimir grumbled, “Fisk is caught now.”  
  
“How did you escape the tunnels?”  
  
The question threw Vladimir, why did he care? He clenched his teeth against the pain as he sat up, his back protesting. Watching the vigilante carefully, Vladimir muttered, “I told you, that was not how I died. И, может быть, Анатолий смотрел на меня.” The vigilante didn’t seem happy with his answer so Vladimir sighed heavily and began to tell him what he remembered from that night, though most of it was a blur of pain and gunfire.  
  
//  
  
_Vladimir didn’t know how many times he had been shot. He lost count around the sixth or seventh bullet piercing his skin. He didn’t know what was up or what was down.  
  
He could feel his blood dripping onto the floor, could hear the soft _ plick plick _of the liquid hitting the floor. Pain was a mere afterthought now; it hurt so much, he had gone numb. The men lay dead around him, how, he had no clue. Anatoly must have been watching him, trying to save his brother to the best of the abilities he had now, wherever he was.  
  
“_ _Выглядит ли_ _небеса_ _, как_ _Москва_ _, брат?_ _”  
  
Vladimir wanted to give in. He closed his eyes, hoping to allow himself to drift off, but hands fell on his shoulders, dragging him. He gave a rattled gasp of pain, barely able to breathe as he looked up. No face could be seen, at all, and it unnerved the Russian.  
  
“Mask?”  
  
“Guess again.”  
  
The voice sounded familiar, and Vladimir was very tempted to say Anatoly.  
  
“Iosif?”  
  
“Ding ding.”  
  
Vladimir grunted as Iosif dragged him over a rock, pain jarring through every inch of his body.  
  
“_ _Это было_ _для моей_ _понижение_ _.”  
  
Vladimir laughed weakly, coughing hard before his vision began swimming, a hand reaching up to grab the man’s wrist as his vision began to darken, fading into black.  
  
_ //  
  
“One of your men pulled you out?” Daredevil clarified when Vladimir fell silent, his throat hoarse.  
  
“Da.”  
  
“How did he survive the bombings?”  
  
“Ебать if I know. I would be dead if not for him,” Vladimir paused, “and you, я думаю.” _  
_ __  
There was an awkward pause in which Vladimir concentrated on trying to stop the room from spinning before his eyes. He groaned, rubbing his throbbing head.  
  
“Let me check your injuries,” Daredevil said, stepping towards Vladimir.   
  
“I am fine,” Vladimir growled, waving his hand at the vigilante as if he was a fly, “I had worse.”  
  
“I know,” the vigilante said, a strange tone to his voice. Vladimir looked at him sharply, hating the pity he heard in the man’s voice. That was if it was actually pity, he couldn’t tell for certain without eye contact, he suddenly loathed that mask.  
  
Daredevil sat down on the sofa next to Vladimir, the leather of his outfit squeaking.   
  
“I like the new suit,” Vladimir snorted, “Очень восемьдесят гей порно звезда.”  
  
“My old one wasn’t providing me with enough protection,” the man said smoothly, reaching his hands out towards Vladimir, “Lift your shirt up.”  
  
Vladimir hesitated for a second then obeyed, clenching his teeth to not let any sound escape him. He tugged off his shirt and immediately the vigilante’s leather-gloved fingers were on his skin, prodding at his side. Vladimir jumped at the contact, almost lashing out at the man but he held back his temper.   
  
“Nothing is broken,” Daredevil told him, though his hand lingered on Vladimir’s back and the Russian could have sworn the man stroked his thumb over the large scar there.  
  
Feeling slightly hot, Vladimir grunted and got to his feet. The floor tilted beneath his feet and his body shouted in pain at the sudden movement. He swayed violently and found have fallen if the vigilante hadn’t caught him and held him up.  
  
“Still as stubborn I see,” Daredevil mused, his breath tickling Vladimir’s ear they were standing so close. Vladimir found himself momentarily leaning on the vigilante, turning his face towards his and staring at his tempting lips – lips that reminded him so much of the lawyer’s, of Matt’s...   
  
“Sit back down,” the vigilante said and Vladimir obeyed, his knees feeling weak.  
  
When he was settled back down on the sofa, the vigilante said, “I have to go.”  
  
Trying to hide his disappointment, Vladimir muttered, “Can I expect the police to appear at my door once you’ve gone?”  
  
Daredevil shook his head, “I’m not going to turn you in, Vladimir, I should, but I’m not going to – as long as you continue to not commit any crimes.”  
  
“How considerate of you.”  
  
“I’ll be in touch.”

Vladimir watched the vigilante cross to the window and open it.

“You could use the door,” he called after him.

Daredevil paused, replying over his shoulder, “It’s not my style.” Then he disappeared out of the window into the night.

“Без шуток,” Vladimir murmured to his empty apartment, though a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ползучий = creepy  
> И, может быть, Анатолий смотрел на меня = and maybe Anatoly was looking down on me   
> Выглядит ли небеса, как Москва, брат? = Does heaven look like Moscow, brother?  
> Это было для моей понижение = That was for my demotion.  
> Ебать = fuck  
> я думаю = I guess


	6. Chapter 6

All seemed oddly quiet in the city tonight as Matt prowled the rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen, sense straining to detect any hint of a disturbance or criminal activity.

It had been three days since he had scooped Vladimir up from the pavement outside the bar he had pretty much destroyed and taken him back to his apartment. Since then he had begun his nights out by checking on the Russian and each time he had Vladimir had been where he had left him, recovering inside the building. Matt hadn’t shown his face to the ex-mob boss since the night he had saved him, he kept telling himself that Vladimir was no longer his concern – unless he went back to his old ways – however he couldn’t seem to stay away from the man, he couldn’t concentrate on the night ahead without first making sure Vladimir was in his apartment.

Matt jumped onto the next roof and rolled forwards, coming up smoothly and pausing to listen intently, he thought he had heard a faint cry. Suddenly the gunshot pierced the air, shattering the quiet and causing a dog to start barking loudly. He was close. Matt could tell by the way the noise bounced off the walls that it had come from an alleyway. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only person to hear the gunshot.

Vladimir left his apartment only a few minutes ago, his back and ribs finally feeling up to carrying his weight further than from his bedroom to the kitchen. Being outside and breathing in the cool evening air helped chase away the last twinges of pain from his bruised body.

He wanted to see the vigilante again, ever since he had jumped out of his apartment window a few days ago he hadn’t been appeal to stop thinking about him. He wondered if he should commit a crime, or get into another bar fight, and hope the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was in the vicinity. Perhaps if he wandered around the streets for long enough he would catch a glimpse of him jumping between rooftops.

Vladimir couldn’t help but feel foolish, what was he thinking trying to find the vigilante? They weren’t friends, yet Vladimir felt like they weren’t enemies either, there was something unspoken between them – respect perhaps – that had stopped the vigilante from turning him over to the police. In truth Vladimir needed something to focus his attention on, to keep his mind from straying back to his brother.

The gunshot made Vladimir freeze. His heart immediately jumping up into his throat and his hand flying to the gun he had stuffed in the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.

It was a Russian gun – a Nagant M1895 revolver – his grandfather used to own one, it had been the first gun Vladimir had ever used, he had been so young he could barely lift it and hold it steady. Upon leaving Russia for America, he and Anatoly hadn’t been able to take anything with them from their past, only each other, for they had had nothing in the prison where they had escaped from. Vladimir had bought the revolver from a gun specialist not long after they arrived in the States, he should have used the money to buy something better, but he wanted something to remind him of his past.

Now, pulling the revolver from his belt, he checked all seven chambers were loaded before carefully but quickly making his way towards where he thought the gunshot had come from. He paused on the street corner, looking around and listening for any shouts or cries. But he heard nothing, though that wasn’t particularly surprising, he was almost deaf in his left ear - too many gun fights in close quarters over the years – and he struggled with pinpointing noise from a distance.

Suddenly there was movement and Vladimir turned around and looked up just in time to see the vigilante spring across the rooftops just behind him. Vladimir broke into a sprint up the street after the vigilante, running alongside the buildings he was using. He tried to keep the masked man in his sights but it was difficult, this part of the city was dimly lit and his costume made him almost impossible to see against the black sky.

Swearing under his breath, Vladimir skidded to a halt, breathing hard, adrenaline coursing through his veins. There was an alleyway just up ahead on his left and he headed towards it.

“No, please, don’t!” A frightened woman cried and Vladimir flattened himself against the wall, peering around the corner down into the rubbish strewn alleyway. It was dark and he couldn’t make much out, but he could just see the bulking forms of three men encircling a woman who was cowering against the brickwork.

Normally such a sight would not had bothered Vladimir in the slightest, hell there had been times when he had been one of those men standing over the woman though he didn’t like to admit it. The world was cruel and there was nothing you could do about it. However, no one had told the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen that.  

The masked man dropped down from the rooftop onto the lid of a dumpster, the bang of his weight hitting the metal making the three men jump and spin around. Vladimir saw the flash of knives and he tensed, about to throw himself into the alleyway to help – not that the vigilante needed his help to beat three guys with knives, he had taken out a whole warehouse full of Vladimir’s men armed with machine guns after all. Suddenly a car beeped its horn as it swung up onto the curb, just fitting down the alleyway. Vladimir had to jump back to avoid being clipped by the bumper. The car’s headlights illuminated the scene, showing the whimpering woman’s torn dress and the blood on her face. The three men seemed unsurprised by the appearance of the car, indeed they were grinning wolfishly at the vigilante still crouched on top of the dumpster. All four of the car doors opened and four men squeezed out, all of them holding guns.

It was a trap, the whole thing, for the vigilante.

Vladimir swore loudly just as the men opened fire. There was an explosion of chaos and noise, the gunfire louder than ever confined to the alleyway. Vladimir did not see what happened to the masked man, he just threw himself into the mayhem.

Coming up behind one of the men, he clobbered him hard in the side of the head with the butt of his revolver. The man yelled out and crumbled to the ground. Vladimir did not hesitate to point his gun at the man and fire one round into his chest, right into his heart. He ducked behind the car as bullets ripped up the wall just inches from where he stood. A mad grin spread across his face, it had been too long since his last fire fight, oh how he’d missed the excitement. The window above his head shattered and glass rained down upon him. Jumping up, Vladimir fired three shots at the man opposite, one missing but the other two catching him in the body. The woman was screaming and the man were shouting – confused about the attack coming from behind them.

Vladimir just caught a glimpse of the vigilante taking down two of the men with knives before he was forced to duck down again. The bullets tore through the car, the ripping of metal putting Vladimir’s teeth on edge. The gunman was coming towards him round the car. He scrambled back, around the car in a circle to the other side. The body of the second man had shot lay beneath him, the man gargling blood, barely alive. Vladimir shoved him out of the way so he could see underneath the car. He stuck his gun arm beneath and pulled the trigger, taking out the gunman’s shin. The man screamed as he collapsed, bone protruding from his leg. Vladimir silenced him with a shot to the head, blood and gore spattering the wall.

He had one round left in his gun and there was one gunman left. The vigilante was pinned down behind the dumpster, bullets eating into the metal. On his feet, Vladimir moved up behind the gunman and was just about to pull the trigger when the man sensed him. Spinning around, he knocked Vladimir’s gun to one side and slammed him hard in the gut. Winded, Vladimir staggered back, but the few seconds the gunman was distracted with him was enough for the vigilante to spring forwards and take him out. Knocking his leg out from under him and knocking him out with a skilled punch to the face.        

“Piece of shit!” Vladimir snarled, his blood up and he snatched up his fallen gun and pointed it at the unconscious man.

“No!” the vigilante seized hold of his wrist and yanked his arm upwards at the last second. The final shot rang out, the bullet disappearing into the darkness overhead.

“Чтоебать!” Vladimir shouted, jerking his arm free of the man’s grip, “He was going to kill you!”  
  
“I don’t kill people!” the masked man snapped, panting hard.  
  
“No, you just abandon them to die!” the words left Vladimir’s mouth before he even registered what he was saying.  
  
The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen froze, his masked face turned towards Vladimir and his jaw working furiously.  
  
“T-that was your choice,” he growled, spitting blood out on the ground.  
  
There was a brief pause in which they both caught their breaths and Vladimir ran an eye over the vigilante.  
  
“You are unhurt?”  
  
The masked man shrugged, “I think so. I wasn’t expecting those guys...” He trailed off, gesturing to the car behind them.  
  
“It was trap,” Vladimir told him, returning his now empty gun to his belt, “they were waiting for you.”  
  
The vigilante was silent so Vladimir added curtly, “You make many enemies by not killing.”  
  
“I think I’d have more if I did,” the man muttered darkly.  
  
“No one to come after you if they are all dead,” Vladimir growled, crossing his arms over his chest, “You are welcome, Кстати.”  
  
Before the masked man could answer the woman who was curled up in a terrified ball let out a shaking sob. Vladimir had totally forgotten she was even there, after all he hadn’t intervened to save her.  
  
For the first time he became aware he could hear sirens. He couldn’t be found here by the police. The vigilante clearly was thinking the same for he said, “We need to go.”  
  
“What about her?” Vladimir asked, jerking his head towards the woman dismissively.  
  
“The police will be here within three minutes. They’ll look after her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Чтоебать = What the fuck  
> Кстати = by the way


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A past moment between Matt and Anatoly.

Matt had been walking down the street when the familiar sound of a heartbeat trickled through his hearing. A hand rested on his arm and he smiled at Anatoly.

"Been a while since I last saw you."

Anatoly chuckled and the smell of coffee spun around Matt's head. He hesitantly reached a hand out, only to feel a hot cup being pressed into it.

"I did the liberty of buying coffee. The shop was busy."

Matt smiled and nodded his thanks, taking a sip of the liquid, sighing in content as he did so.

"I thought perhaps we could just... Walk today."

"What, walk and get to know each other?"

The sound of the air shifting suggested Anatoly nodded and Matt chuckled when his flustered voice cut through the air. "Yes yes, I nod, but..."

"It's fine, Anatoly."

Matt smile and they began walking, the soft clicking of Matt's blind cane like a soothing blanket. The two men were silent, but it was a comfortable silence, both of them were enjoying the company of one another.

"So... Tell me about you?"

"Me?" Matt took another sip of his coffee. "There isn't really much to tell."

"How did you turn blind?"

Matt's hand tightened on his cane a little before he shrugged. "There was a crash when I was younger. I was nine. A man was going to get run down by a car and I just... Snapped and ran. Pushed him out of the way. I fell down in protection of myself but... The chemicals the trailer truck was carrying got into my eyes. Last thing I ever saw was my Father."

Anatoly was silent and Matt could hear him swallowing.

"You are a selfless person."

"No, I'm really not."

"You save man at nine years old."

Matt snorted.

"Sometimes I wish I'd let him die."

Matt felt Anatoly staring at him and he shrugged. "Miss being able to see. Although, I'm thanful I didn't have to see my Dad.."

Anatoly's hand was there on his shoulder and Matt shrugged again.

"What about you? I can feel the scar on your hand, what happened there?"

Anatoly grunted a little and the hand disappeared. Matt listened to the Russian take a sip of his drink and he let out a sigh.

"I have a brother, Vlad- just a brother. My Mother cheated on our Father. He was... He was the child of that affair and my Father hated him. He would beat him quite a bit... One time I watched and... I couldn't listen to him crying out anymore. I jumped in the way of the belt and it gashed me pretty hard. That's what the scar is from. My brother was furious - lost his temper and beat our Father down before he packed us up and took me to the hospital before we moved in with my Aunt for a few months."

Matt was silent, licking his lips.

"I-I'm sorry."

The air shifted as Anatoly shrugged.

"It is fine. We got used to it and once we could, my brother left Russia. I forced him to take me with him. I refuse to let him go by himself. He got an extra ticket and we came straight here."

Matt raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie but said nothing. He shouldn't pry, and he'd let Anatoly think he'd believed him. After all, he didn't want to ruin the trust he had gained with the Russian.

They walked in a comfortable silence again before Anatoly's hand gently lead him to sit down. Matt leant against the bench before humming a little.

"What was your Mother like?"

"She's the kindest woman on Earth... When she had our sister, there were complications and my brother and I thought we would lose her. But she just had to stay in hospital with her for a few months... There was something wrong with birth and um-um how you say...?"

Matt tilted his head. "The umbilical cord?"

"Yes! The umbilical cord detached too early and she had early labour. My sister had not fully developed and she was born blind and almost deaf. But she got surgery for hearing."

"You have a blind sister?"

"Had... There was an incident when she came to visit us here in States."

Matt dropped his head. "I'm sorry, Anatoly."

"She is in better place now."

Matt went silent, sipping his drink.

"What about your Father?"

The lawyer coughed a little, crossing his ankle over his knee before humming. "He was a boxer. Jack Battlin' Murdock. He lost more than he won but... He was a good boxer. Other's were just better. I would stitch him up every night and he would laugh away with me. Helped me with the homework he could... A proper Dad, you know?"

Anatoly chuckled. "Yes. Father was like that with me."

"I thought you said-"

"He was like that with Vl- brother."

Matt nodded, listening to the sounds of the park, both men falling into a comfortable silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're both SO SORRY for the wait on this story!! And I'm afraid we have more bad news :/ we both have lost our motivation/inspiration for this fic so as of now it is on official HIATUS! We're really sorry and we hope that in the future we will return to this fic and write more, but currently we do not know when that will be :( Sorry again! Please don't hate us!

**Author's Note:**

> The Russian on Anatoly's grave is translated to _“Life is a great surprise. I don't see why death should not be an even greater one.”_


End file.
